


Icing on the Cake

by JediMordsith



Series: Sweet On You [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Cake, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Frosting, Han Ships It, Ridiculously shameless smut, consolation and brain rot for when you need a break from angst, possessive Luke, table!shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 16:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11444853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JediMordsith/pseuds/JediMordsith
Summary: Gallingly poorly edited, slap-dash fluff and smut dedicated to everyone who is suffering through the brilliantly glorious angst of Frangipani's Richochet and needs to rot their brain a bit... because Frangi called me out and asked for it in her comments section and I had to - so here you go!





	Icing on the Cake

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I write fiction, not how-to guides. (Well, not here on AO3, anyway.) Please do not assume that anything you see in my fics (or anyone else's for that matter) is necessarily endorsed as safe or in any way a good idea. Please research anything you're tempted to try at home at appropriate, RL sources intended for that sort of thing. Please and thank you. : )

Luke arrived exactly on time for his sister's Life Day celebration to find the Solos' apartment already overflowing with beings, liquor, and laughter. The company they'd hired to handle the catering had outdone themselves, adorning seemingly half of the public areas of the home with small, twinkling lights in a warm, soft cream color that gave the impression of stepping into the stars. Bright, classically styled music wafted through the air, enhancing the elegant festivity of the night.

The rich aromas of roasted meat, fresh-baked breads and savory vegetable dishes filled the air and, counter-intuitively, made Luke's heart sink.

“Luke!” Han pushed through the crowd of beings milling around in their finest dress clothes, and the Jedi summoned a smile.

“Han. Everything looks wonderful.”

“Uh huh,” Solo grabbed his arm. “Wait till you see the icing on the cake.”

Luke let himself be pulled through the living quarters towards the kitchen, nodding polite greetings in every direction as his name was called by friends and political connections alike. Han uniformly waved them all off.

“He's gotta check the cake,” he insisted, shooing them off and keeping Luke on a steady trajectory toward the kitchen. “For safety purposes. Noghri insist.”

Luke eyed his brother-in-law skeptically at that, but kept his mouth shut and followed Han's lead. Just before they hit the kitchen, Luke felt a flicker in the Force. Something was…. off.

“Okay, everybody out,” Solo demanded. “Jedi needs to inspect the cake. You -,” he pointed to the nearest Noghri. “Nobody goes in there until he comes out, right?”

“As you say, Han clan Solo,” the small, sharp-toothed alien agreed.

“Good. _You.”_ Han pointed at Luke and grinned. “Be _thorough_.”

Luke opened his mouth to ask what exactly was going on when Han spun him around and shoved him through the kitchen door.

His mouth abruptly went dry and his eyes traced a long, mesmerizing line up the stupidly high, skin-toned heels and silky stockings with just a maddening hint of shimmer to that damn slinky black dress clinging to curves he'd been aching to hold for _weeks_.

The owner of said curves straightened up from where she'd been bent over the table, dabbing at something, and looked over her shoulder. Lips painted a precocious shade of pink curved into a smile under artificially brown eyes full of wicked satisfaction.

“Master Skywalker,” she murmured, voice all satin and sweetness. “So glad you could join me.”

Luke was across the space that separated them in three strides, one hand burying itself possessively in soft, honey-blonde hair – uncaring about the damage he wreaked on the elegant twist she'd swept it into – the other curving around her waist to pull her tight against him as he dipped his head to capture her mouth with his own.

_Shields. Down. **Now.** _

Mara complied, and Luke reveled in the feel of her against him, physically and in the Force. He still didn't know how she managed to do that – hide herself from him so completely, in spite of their bond – when she thought it would protect him. Or when she wanted to surprise him, apparently.

 _You said you weren't coming,_ he accused over ravenous kisses.

 _I said *Mara * wasn't coming,_ she countered, smugly, her arms coming up to circle his neck. _I never said anything about Tassi._

Luke made an impatient noise. “My place,” he demanded when he was forced to release her to gasp for air. “Now.”

“Can't.” Mara shook her head.

“Why not?”

“Cake,” she answered, seriously.

“What?” Luke stared at her, trying valiantly to get his head back on evenly.

“ _Cake,”_ she repeated, motioning to their right.

Luke turned and was confronted by an absolute masterpiece of chocolate decadence. “You… you still made the cake?” he asked, blinking at it in surprise.

“You thought I'd let Fey'lya's measly little warrant keep me from fulfilling my promise to Leia?” she asked, indignantly. “It's a chocolate and sticky sweetmallow torte iced with caramel ganache, Farmboy. You can't get those _anywhere_ – unless you know how to make them yourself. Or,” she added, pleased, “you know me.”

“Ganache?” His brain short-circuited on the provocative word, and his body responded of its own volition, hardening uncomfortably in his pants. “As in, that stuff that you...”

 _Painted you with while you were tied to the bed, then licked off… very slowly?_ She grinned wickedly. _The very same._

“Dear Force, _please_ tell me you made extra.”

“For Leia?” she asked, all innocence. “Of course. I even offered to lend her my stun cuffs if she wanted to consume it in my preferred fashion.”

Luke grimaced. “I did _not_ need to know that,” he complained.

She shrugged. “While we're on the subject of things people don't need to know, the Rogues wouldn't get you a stripper or anything for your Life Day, would they? Because I left my stuff at your apartment.”

“No, they try to do something different every year.”

Mara raised an eyebrow. “Remind me to get Antilles drunk enough to tell me that story.”

Luke gave her an exasperated look and she smirked, stepped back out of his hold to start fixing her hair.

 _You should check the cake_ , she told him, sticking a few bejeweled hair pins in her mouth. _For toxins or dangers_ _or whatever_ _. Han told everyone that you would._

“You made it,” he teased, sinking into the Force and running his senses over it nonetheless. _The only thing anyone's in danger of is sugar overload or death by -._ He lost his words abruptly when she projected her memory of him, four-pointed to his minimalistic bed, still sticky with traces of icing, gasping her name as his hips bucked and he emptied himself in her greedy mouth.

Mara finished re-pinning her hair. “Well, if that's covered, then, you'd best get back out to the party. I've got a few finishing touches to add.”

Luke looked at her, lost in the struggle between his delight that she was here and his frustration with _how_ she was here.

She caught the turmoil through their bond and ducked her head. “I'd have come as myself if I could,” she defended. “I thought – I thought something was better than nothing.”

Luke pulled her back into his embrace, buried his face in her neck.

He did want her here – was elated that she'd found a way to come, in spite of Fey'lya's petty machinations. It was just -.

“I don't know how I'm going to keep my hands off of you,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses to her throat. “Until it's time to take you home.”

“You don't have to,” she pointed out. “There's enough rumors already.”

He made a sound of disgust. Sludge news had been positively _vicious_ in the eight months since Remembrance Week.

_Secret NRI Mission A Cover For Shared Love Nest Escapades?_

_Jedi Master and New Republic General Sharing a Sweet Escape!_

_Chief of State Covers for Husband and Brother in a Filthy Love Triangle!_

No matter how many times Luke, Han _and_ Leia insisted that Tassi Colay was a simple pastry chef who'd been hired to assist Han – and then Luke, when Han was unexpectedly quarantined – with the now-famous T'iil Seed Cake Worshop, and who adamantly wished to do her day job without being harassed by the media, reporters insisted on coming up with new ways to illicitly link the elusive blonde to both Luke and Han. The more enterprising and fearless ones routinely found ways to throw Leia into the mix as well.

Mara had insisted this was all the more reason to keep their relationship a secret. If this was how they responded to a largely unknown woman with a pristine reputation – Duke Frayne insisted she was _angelic –_ they could only expect drastically worse when word got out that Luke was seeing her, with her well-known reputation.

_That's not the kind of 'bad for you' we agreed that I'd be, Skywalker._

Luke had been working for months to overcome her paranoia enough to get her to agree to come – _as herself_ _–_ to Leia's formal Life Day celebration, held two days before their real birthday, as his date. When she'd finally, reluctantly, conceded a month ago he'd been elated. Until last week, when Fey'lya had managed to entirely twist a recent galactic incident in which Karrde's crew had been involved – on the New Republic's behalf – and get warrants issued for every member of his crew: set foot on Coruscant, get arrested. It was correctable, Leia had assured him… just not in time for the party.

And now here Mara was, as Tassi. Delight and temptation and quandary.

If he was all over her, he'd have a hell of a time later trying to introduce people to the idea of a serious relationship with Mara. But trying to keep his hands to himself tonight might possibly kill him.

 _There is no try,_ he reminded himself sternly. _You're a Jedi, for kriff's sake. Get yourself together._

Taking a deep, bracing breath, Luke released her, save for a hand cupping her cheek. “When we get home...” he promised, eyes dark with desire.

“I know,” she interrupted, leaning forward to kiss him again, her need running through him like a shock of fire. “I know.”

Luke dragged himself away from her and paused at the door to straighten his clothes and school his breathing and expression back to calm. He was a Jedi Master. He could _do_ this.

\- -

Duke Menethe Frayne slid his hand another inch lower on Tassi's hip as he introduced her around. Luke stifled the urge to stalk across the room and rip the man's hand off Mara – and, possibly, off his presumptuous arm. He'd heard that Frayne had been searching for the alluring pastry chef since the Workshop, but he hadn't really given the rumor any credence. Since the moment she'd emerged from the kitchen, however, he'd laid claim to her, monopolizing her time and escorting her around in a gallingly proprietary manner.

It should have been a gift – a prime opportunity to 'prove' to the nosy media that he had no interest in her. That she was, as they'd insisted, just a one-time hired assistant – nothing more.

Except that he never stopped _touching_ her.

And Mara, to Luke's unending aggravation, _let him_.

He could feel her distaste through the bond, despite her attempts to suppress it. But polite attempts to disentangle herself from the Duke were futile and she refused to cause a scene. If Luke wanted _Mara_ , then _Tassi_ was best left to the Frayne's attentions. It was a sacrifice, and if that was what he wanted, then she'd smile sweetly and endure it for him.

The realization was equal parts humbling and revolting.

When Frayne's hand brushed down casually over Mara's ass, an ostensibly accidental liberty, as he was turning to speak to someone else, Luke hit his limit.

“Excuse me,” he said with forced grace, excusing himself in the middle of the story the politician – whose name he couldn't remember – was rambling on about. Discarding his wine glass on the tray carried by the nearest serving droid, he pulled on the Force and slipped out of public awareness.

 _There's nothing to see here,_ he projected. _Enjoy the party._

Slipping out on to the empty balcony, he nodded at Khabarahk, the Noghri on duty. “Will you send Tassi Colay out here, please?”

“At once, Luke clan Skywalker.” The alien melted into the apartment and reappeared a moment later, Mara in tow.

“What's wrong?” She asked, immediately, eyes scanning around for danger.

“We're leaving,” he announced, firmly, holding out his hand.

“I can't,” she protested, immediately. “My cover...”

“The only thing I want covering you right now is ganache.” He felt the shudder of _want_ that ran through her at that. “Come on.”

Wrapping them both in his best _I'm-not-here, you-don't-see-me_ Force trick, Luke extracted her from the party and managed to get them as far as the turbo-lift. Punching the button for his floor, he pressed her against the back wall, mouth on her throat, hands roaming eagerly.

Mara hummed in pleasure, her fingers twisting in his hair. “Farmboy – _oh_.”

Luke kneaded her breast again, savoring the way it made her squirm against him. “I'm not going to let anyone else touch you again,” he murmured in her ear. “Not for a cover, not for a reputation. Just me, Mara.”

She whined, pushing harder into his hand, and Luke tugged the stretchy fabric of her dress down to nip at the lace-covered nipple beneath. Mara squeaked and he grinned, plucking the neckline back up into place and spinning around as the lift doors slid open.

Grasping her hand, he pulled her out into the corridor, one hand staying firmly laced with hers as the other set a record for how fast he could type in his security code.

They made it two steps inside the door before he was peeling her dress off, tossing it in the direction of the living room, not the least bit concerned if it actually made it across a piece of furniture or not.

“Mara,” he pressed her into the wall beside the door, hands cupping her face as he kissed her.

She returned the kisses fervently, her hands tugging at this clothing as she toed off her shoes. Getting his belt off and casting it aside, she started working at his tunic. Luke pulled back enough to let her pull it over his head, then caught her wrists.

“Mara, did you make ganache? For us?”

“Conservator,” she nodded, her eyes glinting. “You want me to -?” She broke off with a startled yelp as Luke swept her off her feet and carried her directly to his spartan kitchen.

Unceremoniously depositing her on the table, he waved the lights to their lowest illumination setting and yanked the chiller open. It was, as usual, nearly empty, the small jar of caramel ganache sitting in prize of place, front and center. Snatching it out, he went directly back to where Mara sat on the edge of the heavy fiberplast table, hair tousled and her creamy skin flushed with arousal.

“Force, you're beautiful,” he murmured, letting his gaze run over her lithe body, clad only in a lacy black bra, barely-there panties and silken stockings.

Mara held out her hand for the jar. “You want me to tie you up again?” she offered. “Or not, so you can have your hands in my hair?”

They both knew he loved running his fingers through her long locks while she sucked him off. He'd never made a secret of that, but this time he shook his head, the memory of Frayne's hands on her too fresh for that.

He shook his head. “Take the contacts out.”

“At least let me put them in their case, this time,” she cajoled. “They're too expensive to just keep tossing aside.”

“Where is it?”

“'Fresher counter.”

Luke left her there, retrieving the case himself, and waited with poorly concealed impatience as she secured the tinted lenses in their protective case. Taking it, he tossed it onto the otherwise empty kitchen counter and then turned back, positioning himself between her spread knees and catching both her hands in his.

Slowly, keeping his heated, lust-darkened eyes on hers, he kissed one palm and then the other. Then he purposefully laid them flat on the cool tabletop, his own overtop, sliding out until her fingertips curled around the thick edges of the table.

“Hands on the table,” he told her in the Jedi Master tone that made her own arousal spike hard and fast. “Don't take them off.”

She nodded, licking her lips in anticipation and tightening her grip on the table.

Luke leaned in, mouthing kisses along the column of her throat, drawing soft noises of pleasure from her. His hands stroked leisurely trails up and down her inner thighs, thumbs dragging along the sensitive skin until she squirmed.

Leaving his left hand to keep drawing lazy patterns below, his right worked open the jar of icing

 _There_ was the heady, gratifying jolt of sugary sweetness he'd been longing for. The scent that was irrevocably linked to _Mara_ for him now.

Then he was dragging the lace off off Mara's left breast. Swiping his thumb through the thick, cool icing, he smeared it across the rosy peak of her nipple, smiling against her shoulder when she squeaked at the cold on her heated, sensitive skin.

Cupping her breast in his hand, Luke lowered his head and laved the frosted tip with the flat of his tongue.

Mara moaned, curving her ankles around his legs and pulling herself in closer, her body arching in mute demand, even as her hands stayed exactly where he'd put them, flexing with the effort it took not to lift them – card them through his soft hair and fist them there.

 _Mine,_ Luke thought at her, possessively, as he nipped at her pearled nipple, then hungrily sucked at it, his tongue lapping up every trace of icing. _You're_ _only ever mine, now, Mara._

She whimpered, her hips shifting restlessly, and Luke paused to pull her panties off her before baring and anointing her other breast with the sinfully rich frosting and applying his mouth to it with equal vigor.

“Luke,” she pleaded. “ _Touch me._ ”

 _If I didn't know better, I'd think you missed me,_ he teased, nipping at her soft skin.

 _Never._ The habitual retort was breathless, and she writhed, seeking relief from the ache burning at her core. _I don't…_

The dismissal died half-formed, dissolving into a cry as he brushed his left hand up, thumb stroking feather light across her slit.

 _I missed you,_ he told her, hotly, sucking hard at her collarbone. _I missed the way you taste. You noises you make for me._

“ _Luke.”_

He pulled back, sliding his left hand up from her thigh to nudge her back until she lay flat on the table, white knuckled hands sliding up but never losing their grip on the fiberplast surface.

Slowly, he dragged his left hand back down her body, coaxed her legs a little further apart. Dipping his right thumb into the jar again, Luke brushed the cool, thick icing directly over the swollen bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

“Ohhh…”

Keeping one hand on Mara's hip to brace her in place, Luke leaned down. Running his tongue over the sticky smear of icing, he felt her hips buck. Wrapping his free hand around her left thigh, Luke buried his face in her, licking, sucking, and thrusting with his tongue, lapping first at the frosting and then the deeper sweetness that poured from her center as writhed against him.

 _I'm not going to let anyone touch you again,_ he repeated his earlier vow as he worked one finger inside her. _The media can go kriff themselves if they can't handle it._ He added a second finger, twisted them inside her as she jerked and babbled incoherently in her pleasure.

_Say it, Mara. You're mine._

_Yours_ , she gasped in his head. _All yours, Luke, please -._

Yanking back from her abruptly, he tugged his pants open and shoved them down his hips. Wrapping his hands around Mara's waist, he pulled her down to the edge of the table. She lifted her hips, eagerly, helping him position her feet flat against his chest, knees bent back against her chest.

Luke thrust into her, hard and deep. They both groaned in satisfaction when his length was buried solidly inside her. Luke pulled almost entirely out her before thrusting in again, his eyes roaming her body appreciatively, taking in the reddened marks he'd left across her chest. Petty, maybe, to mark her so, but soothing, too, to see them there. Evidence that _he_ was the one desired. The one who got to taste her, pleasure her.

He settled into a steady rhythm, and she rolled her hips in time with his thrusts, the position letting her take him deeply. He watched her toss her head, murmuring and whimpering, lost to her pleasure - lost to _him_ – and knew he wouldn't last.

One hand clutched her knees, keeping her in place; the other he worked lower, between her clenched thighs, stroking just where she needed him.

Mara keened, her entire body lifting off the table, taut, her toes curling against his chest as she came violently, clenching around him. Her muscles clamped down around him the same moment her pleasure barreled across their bond, the combined effect slamming him into his own release.

The world dissolved around them, leaving them floating alone together in a private galaxy of brilliant, mind-wrecking pleasure.

Later, when he could move again, Luke became aware of Mara's fingers weaving themselves into his hair, the slide of her heels against his ribs as she awkwardly shifted stiff limbs to wrap her legs around him in a more comfortable position.

Not yet ready to try to stand up from where he'd slumped over her, Luke titled his head to press a kiss between her breasts, still reddened from his attentions.

He felt her affection ripple out over him, gently. “Maybe I should make ganache every year for your Life Day,” she suggested, her voice still a bit rough from her keening.

“I'll be dead before I'm forty,” Luke mumbled, nuzzling her throat.

“Mmm,” she pretended to consider that. “Maybe a different tradition, then.”

Luke propped his chin on her sternum, raised heavy, sated, blue eyes to her. “But you'll be here? For all my Life Days? As _you_?”

The hope in his voice melted something inside her and Mara smiled, a soft, indulgent smile she saved just for him. “Even sludge news won't be able to keep me away,” she promised.

Luke pushed up just enough to press his lips to hers, sharing the taste of her and caramel that lingered on his tongue.

“I love you, Mara Jade.”

“I know.”


End file.
